


off the edges of the world

by leiascully



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-04
Updated: 2006-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His world at the moment is the delicate lines and the splodges of ink footprints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	off the edges of the world

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Marauders  
> A/N: The prompt was midges.  
> Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling and Scholastic. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The quick whine around his ears disturbs Sirius' concentration and he flicks his head so that his hair is a sudden dark halo. He is bent over the map still, the rough boards of the dock scraping his stomach as he shifts. He has been here all day with the map charmed by Remus to keep the water off. His back is bronzed and tender both; he will need Remus' sunburn remedies, tea dribbled chilly between his shoulder blades and Remus' tender fingers stroking the aloe over the long smooth muscles. Remus has vanished into the muggy dark outside the confines of Sirius' attention, Remus all golden with the summer now instead of the pale anxious glowing thing he is under winter moons as Sirius carries him exhausted back up to the castle. The lake water laps at the supports of the dock and splashes up between the boards now and again and if he thought about it, he would be glad he came here to Remus' house, but his world at the moment is the delicate lines and the splodges of ink footprints.

He processes fragments of sensation outside the limits of the parchment. The eerie moan of the mosquitoes. The plash of water against wood. The settling down noise of ducks in the reeds. The light is fading. The edges of the map curl in a light breeze. He feels the magic of the map pushing against his efforts to control it: it is more lively than they wrote it and he must tame it to their effort. Now and again he feels the brief prickle of a mosquito's bite but his muscles twitch without his conscious direction. He is made for this magic, though his elation is harnessed to his concentration and he will not revel until he has untangled the knots of their young magic.

Sirius hears but does not notice the creak of footsteps behind him until a cool mist settles across his bare legs and he shivers in almost erotic startlement. The smell of citronella hangs heavy in the air, and the breeze off the water now raises all the little hairs on his skin. "As long as you were still out here," says Remus' voice, "I thought you might need a little help against the mosquitoes. They're like dementors out for blood." Sirius itches, suddenly, painfully, all up and down his bare legs and back and somehow under his breastbone as well. He rolls to look at Remus, one forearm bracing the map against the wind and the chinks in the dock painfully out of skew against his ribs. Remus is the golden outline of a boy against the dying light, a little pump in one hand.

"Maybe I will come in," says Sirius, and he knows that Remus' clever, careful hands will ease the stinging of his skin and not the ache under his ribs, but he gets up, shakes the dust off the map, and slings one arm over the bony warmth of Remus' shoulders.


End file.
